


Murphy's Law

by onemillionbranches



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Confusion, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Food, M/M, Misunderstandings, Multimedia, Texting, nothing graphic tho, slight mention of depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 11:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9606179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onemillionbranches/pseuds/onemillionbranches
Summary: Based offthis promptMurphy's Law dictates that: anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.And in Enjolras and Grantaire's case, even something like texting can spell disaster for the duo.





	

In Grantaire’s defense it _technically_ was Cosette’s fault, not his.

After all, the cake was stress-baked by the Julia Child incarnate herself and Grantaire had to (almost) physically fight several other members of the Amis, specifically a very pouty Marius, in order to claim ownership for himself.

The Cake was certainly a thing of legends, a fabled myth told in hush whispers after late nights of drinking, passed along between friends in utmost secrecy. Rings of creamy chocolate frosting sandwiched between three layers of dense, moist chocolate sponge brushed with orange liqueur; it was somehow simultaneously light and airy yet dense the way good brownies should be.

Needless to say, Grantaire had fought a pretty tough battle for it.

He had initially claimed it for Enjolras, who contrary to what the rest of their friends may think, is a huge aficionado of all things sweet and chocolatey and will probably go through bags of the stuff if unmonitored.

Grantaire knows this all too well, he still has the scars from their failed gummy bear sex escapade to prove for it.

Things have been tough in the office as of late. With election season coming up Enjolras has been busier than ever rushing to meet deadlines and pushing his poor interns so hard Grantaire had to send out no less than 3 fruit baskets a week secretly in fear of them pressing charges for being overworked.

He wanted to do something extra special for his husband for a change, since Grantaire really couldn’t do much else for Enjolras besides offer up a listening ear or blow his mind with incredible sex (at least he _hope_ s it’s incredible).

And so when Cosette had mass-texted the group that she was baking, after no doubt a particularly stressful day in court, Grantaire didn’t even bother with replying before speeding off to her apartment to await the masterpiece.

He really had intended to wait for Enjolras to come home before eating it, but the allure of The Cake sitting pristine on their dining table was more temptation than Grantaire could physically resist, it was calling out to him as if screaming out his name and –

And so he ate a slice.

(Or two slices, he never did have very strong willpower.)

As soon as the cake melted in his mouth and his taste buds picked on their flavor, Grantaire was suddenly hit with sensory explosions like he has never felt before. Was it even possible for food to taste this _good_?

He moaned, far too loud and obscene even if there was no one in the apartment to hear it, and reached for another bite.

It’s a true testament of how much he loves Enjolras that Grantaire managed to stop two slices in.

Deciding to preview what was waiting for him at home, Grantaire fished out his phone and snapped a quick picture of The Cake along with a smart-ass caption, hoping that it would bring Enjolras home faster before turning off his phone to paint.

It is to be noted that despite the neat sum of money Enjolras earns as the editor-in-chief of a major newspaper and the neat sum of money Grantaire earns as a Tribeca art gallery owner, the duo refuses to move out of their dingy East Village apartment for “sentimentality” sake.

(Secretly, the rest of their friends think that the pair are just trying to live out their RENT fantasies of being struggling artists.)

With the less-than-desirable real estate location came the added benefit of having terrible cell signal which has led to Enjolras and Grantaire being uncontactable for hours on end. Despite the protests of their friends Grantaire has always stuck firm to his argument that the terrible cell signal keeps work away from Enjolras’s mind when he is home, which has proven beneficial to their relationship so really, what is everyone fussing about anyways?

In true Bossuet Laigle fashion however, anything that could go wrong in that moment, did go wrong in a _big_ way.      

                                                                                                                      

Enjolras has a headache.

It wasn’t just the fact that he had recently ended a 2-hour meeting with the board-of-directors arguing for more autonomy over the paper or the fact that he still has to look over roughly 6 different articles and fact-check another 3 that was making his head pound.

More importantly though, it was the immense guilt he was feeling at not being home with his husband coupled with the ever-standing need to work that was crippling his ability at rational thought.

Enjolras sighed deeply, feeling a tremor pass through his body.

He really, _really_ wanted to be home with Grantaire. He wanted to hear his laughter, deep and full-bellied like an old man; wanted to see the crinkle at the corner of those blue eyes when he smiled, shy and bashful; wanted to feel his sinewy muscles, hands trailing down further and further before –

A timid knock on the door snapped Enjolras out of his fantasy and he straightened up in his chair instantly, alarmed and slightly embarrassed at his arousal.

“I got them like you asked, boss” Marius, Enjolras’s long-suffering secretary, gently placed a bouquet of flowers on the desk before standing back to await instructions.

“It’s late, go home Marius. Thank you for these,” Enjolras said, flashing him a gentle smile.

Marius looked more alarmed than a deer in headlights, shifting his weight from feet to feet as if unclear of whether Enjolras was actually telling the truth before quickly bidding his goodbye.

Enjolras picked up the bouquet, sorting through the flowers with his thumb.

It was an assortment of different flowers, a throwback to when him and Grantaire had first begun dating and R had spent an entire date explaining to Enjolras about the language of flowers.

There was a single full bloom red rose, for _I Love You_ ; pink camellias for _Longing for You_ ; purple hyacinth for _I am Sorry_ and blue violets (Grantaire’s favorites) for _I’ll Always Be True._

Enjolras doesn’t always do romance, but when he does he spares no punches in making sure Grantaire knows how much he is loved.

A quick succession of buzzes broke Enjolras’s reverie and he scrambled for his phone, lost amidst the flood of papers on his desk, praying that it wasn’t yet another crisis that would keep him away from home any longer.

It was so, so much worse.

Had Enjolras been less sleep-deprived and not completely worn out, his brain might have been able to rationalize and calm himself down. But as it is, all he could do was read and reread the message again and again, the panic that was bubbling inside of him threatening to spill over at any instant.

_I’m leaving you, I found someone else._

It couldn’t be, right? Grantaire wouldn’t break up with him over _text_ message, would he?

A sharp jolt of pain shot through Enjolras’s heart as he registered what the message meant. Memories of late nights in the office and cold dinners, phone calls made to bars too loud and phone numbers shoved down jeans seized his mind.

He thought back to all the times they fought, all the times he had said something only to regret it instantly when he had seen the hurt in Grantaire’s eyes, all the times he forgot about anniversaries and birthdays and art showings all in the name of work.

It’s a painful revelation to suddenly discover your own inadequacy – to realize so jarringly, how much you have been lacking all along.

Enjolras took a deep breath before replying, ignoring how his hands shook slightly as he dialed Grantaire’s phone number.

“ _Hello, you have reached the voicemail of the Grand R who is either (a) ignoring you, (b) hungover and thus ignoring you or –“_

He dialed again.

“ _Hello, you have reached the voicemail of the Grand R who is either (a) ignoring you, (b) hungover and thus ignoring you or –“_

He wasn’t going to go down without at least _trying_.

It’s the least Enjolras could do for the man who has stuck by him for almost a decade, loving him even at his worst, even when he didn’t deserve it, to apologize for the pain he has caused all these years.

He just needed closure, that’s all.

He just needed to hear those words from Grantaire’s mouth and he’ll understand.

The drive home felt longer than ever.

                                                                   

When they had first got together Grantaire discovered to his pleasant surprise, that Enjolras has a secret kink for paint-splattered hands.

There was no other way to explain the way Enjolras’s eyes zeroed in on Grantaire’s hands every time he was engrossed in a painting and had absentmindedly been using his palm as a substitute palette; or the way Enjolras would trace the dried acrylic gently with his fingers, rubbing small circles into the back of Grantaire’s palm soothingly.

It had got the point where Grantaire gradually stopped trying so hard to remove all traces of paint from his body before meeting his then-boyfriend and instead started embracing the paint as part of himself.

It wasn’t always easy to do so – loving all parts of himself.

Grantaire was, is still acutely aware of how easy it might be to slip back into his former self. Back to the days where getting out of bed seemed harder than scaling Everest and reminding himself to take each breath to stay alive was a daily chore.

But then Enjolras had came along and with him a lightness like never before entered Grantaire’s life and he was pulled out of that dark hole towards something so much more ethereal and beautiful.

Love isn’t all healing, he knows that better than anyone and even with Enjolras in his life now Grantaire knows that the battle he fights on the daily will be ongoing for a long time to come. But with Enjolras fighting alongside him in the ring, the battle doesn’t look as daunting as it used to, the darkness not as all-encompassing and enveloping as it once had been.

He still has days of self-deprecation, of feeling like he isn’t and never will be good enough. And on those days Enjolras holds him a little tighter, touches him not like he’s someone who needs to be fixed, but someone who is already whole and beautiful as is.

He was still deep in thought, paintbrush in hand, when Enjolras burst into the room carrying a bouquet of flowers.

“Are those flowers in your hand or are you just happ –“Grantaire stopped abruptly when he realized that Enjolras’s eyes were red and puffy, knuckles clenched white around the bouquet of flowers. “What’s wrong?”

Enjolras set the flowers gently on the countertop next to him and crossed the room in an elegant stride, taking Grantaire in his arms.

It wasn’t until his body started shaking gently that Grantaire realized Enjolras was crying.

Grantaire peeled the blond away gently and tilted his head up.

Enjolras took a step back before beginning, taking a deep breath both to stop from crying and to steady himself.

“I know I haven’t – I haven’t been the best husband all these years. I know I work too much and overlook important dates and miss art shows that you’ve work months on and I pick fights and say things to you that are cruel but goddamn it I –“He took another deep breath to stop himself from crying.

“I just want to tell you how much I love you and I got these stupid flowers because I thought somehow they might make up for me being the most undeserving man ever, but I guess – I guess I’m too late. You don’t owe me any explanation, I’ll be out by the morning with my stuff.”

Grantaire might laugh at the expression on Enjolras’s face if not for how utterly confused he was. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“I read your message. I called you but it doesn’t seems like you wanted to talk over the phone so I rushed home instead.”

Grantaire furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “What the fuck are you talking about, Enjolras?”

“I get it okay!” Enjolras was close to yelling now, tears welling up in his eyes yet again. “I’ve been a shitty partner all this time and now you finally realized how much more you deserve and found someone better and I’m really happy for you but I’m really – I’m really fucking sad and – why are you laughing?”

Grantaire closed the distance between them and placed a hand on Enjolras’s hips, pulling them close together. He leaned in to kiss Enjolras, who hesitated for a brief second before slipping into the comfort of familiarity, of the taste of mint gum and menthol cigarettes and the slightly chapped edges of Grantaire’s mouth.

It was Enjolras who pulled away first, lips swollen from Grantaire’s teeth and suffering from whiplash at all the emotions he was feeling.

Grantaire slid his phone gently into Enjolras’s palm and kissed him gently on the forehead, punctuating each phrase with another kiss down Enjolras’s face.

“So you see I have this husband who works too much,” _Kiss._ Enjolras shakily scroll through the messages, his face lighting up with realization. “And I happen to stay in a place with pretty crap cell service so when you combine that with the most delicious food known to mankind, you get a pretty colossal misunderstanding.”

Grantaire cupped Enjolras’s face in his hands, smiling as the blond whined in disagreement.

“I will never leave you for anyone, I mean it. You’re going to have to try a lot harder than a few missed art shows to send me running for the hills, mister. I’m sorry, I should have checked before turning off my phone to paint.”

“But I don’t remember important dates and we fight like every other day and –“

“And I have days where I can’t get out of bed and I still throw my socks around the house when I reach home and I never do the dishes – so what? We’re flawed and slightly dysfunctional yes, but we’re human and more importantly we’re in love. I have days too where I’m afraid that you’ll wake up and realize how beautiful you are and it’ll be the day where you leave but then you hold me and it goes away. So now I’m telling you – I love you, Enjolras and I always will.”

They kissed again and this time, it was without hesitation or fear, pulling away eventually only for air.

Enjolras smiled sheepishly, “I can’t believe this was all because of a cake,”

“Well, to be fair it’s Cosette’s cake so really this was all because of Cosette.”

“How good did you say it was?”

“Better than sex,”

Enjolras cocked an eyebrow, “Really huh,” he pressed against Grantaire, nudging him towards their bedroom. “I guess I’ll have to change that then,”

(He did, but then again Grantaire never did have very strong willpower.)

 

\---

Grantaire woke to the smell of pancakes and bacon.

Reaching over his bedside table Grantaire nearly knocked over a glass of orange juice, the clacking of metal cutlery clearing his foggy morning brain.

Perched precariously on the bedside table was a plate of golden pancakes and crispy bacon, stacked haphazardly on one side with fluffy eggs (scrambled egg whites only, just how he likes them) and toast on the other.

He smiled fondly and lifted the cup of coffee to his lips, about to take a sip when a spot of colour in his peripheral vision caught his attention.

A single blue violet, resting on top of a white notecard, perched at the edge of the bedside table.

A single phrase was all that was written on the card.

_I’ll always be true to you. Love, E._

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> As usual all typos and errors belong to me and me alone! 
> 
> Hope you guys liked this one and of course, comment and kudos to show me that you do :-)


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